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It’s not just the classic rockers who are dying

Deaths like Bowie’s, Glenn Frey’s and Lemmy’s mean end of an era is near.

The deaths of David Bowie and Glenn Frey of the Eagles, second from right, feed into something greater than the end of a particular music style: the end of the ’70s as a lingering force in pop culture, writes Joel Rubinoff.

By Joel RubinoffTorstar News Service

Thu., Jan. 28, 2016

If I was the curator of www.deathlist.net — which prides itself on guessing which ailing celebrities will die each year — I would clear the roster of the 80 and ninety-something showbiz luminaries who typically make their Top 50 and focus exclusively on rock stars in their 60s.

As we’ve seen in the last three-and-a-half weeks, the most endangered species aren’t the doddering geezers who made their names in the postwar 1940s and ’50s. It’s musicians who came up during the classic rock era.

First it was Motorhead’s Lemmy, the heavy metal party animal who died of cancer at 70. Then it was Natalie Cole, the R&B powerhouse who died of heart failure at 65. Then it was David Bowie, the iconic glam rocker who died of cancer at 69.

And then, a few days later, it was Glenn Frey, the bellicose, driven co-founder of the Eagles, who died from a variety of chronic ailments at 67.

Can Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler (67) and Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant (67) be far behind?

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Mind you, rock pioneer Chuck Berry is still onstage at 89, for crying out loud. Little Richard, that wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-lop-bam-boom wild man, was still tearing it up two years ago at 81. And that cousin-marrying lunatic Jerry Lee Lewis continues to unleash his great balls of fire at 80.

So why, you may ask, is the death curve being squared with such ominous precision as once vibrant superstars prepare to collect their social security cheques?

One word: excess.

Music in the ’70s was about overkill: drugs, groupies, sex, booze, pills.

The ones who didn’t die in their prime to join the 27 Club — like Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix — probably figured they would live to an advanced age, free from physical fallout. But as we now know, when you spend all your time drinking, partying, carrying on with groupies and snorting things up your nose, the past catches up with you.

What did Bowie, Lemmy, Frey and Cole have in common during their rock and roll heyday? Substance abuse.

And if you think that doesn’t take a toll on your body over time, you’re like Bowie’s Major Tom, floating in a tin can up in space, untethered from reality.

But there’s symbolic heft here as well, as anyone who grew up in the era of shag carpeting and 8-tracks can tell you.

Bowie and the Eagles — as big as Bruce Springsteen and U2 a decade later — virtually defined the ’70s: bold, innovative powerhouses who influenced generations.

Their deaths, not surprisingly, feed into something greater than the end of a particular music style.

They represent an end to the freewheeling, boundary-pushing ’70s as a lingering force in pop culture.

Yes, that legendary decade ended 37 years ago.

But the classic rock spawned in the era of leisure suits and lava lamps has proven more resilient than any other musical style: catchy, anthemic, generation defining.

Until now. As the 2010s pass the mid-decade mark, the end is near.

Which means all those dinosaur bands that have kept the struggling concert industry alive are on their last legs, hitting a temporal wall beyond which there’s nowhere left to go.

Who’s left to fill the bill?

Rush just retired. The Eagles are kaput. Black Sabbath is on its farewell tour. Foreigner played Kitchener last year without one original member.

Even stalwarts like Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones are entering their mid-70s. How long do they have left? One year? Three?

And it’s not like there’s a long line of contemporary acts who can fill their shoes.

One Direction and Justin Bieber have huge followings, but who thinks they’ll cast the same wide net in an era of niche entertainment where loyalties are fickle, careers short and everyone does their own thing?

The sad fact is, once these legacy acts pack it in sometime this decade, there will be a gaping maw on the stadium circuit that has traditionally given bands a boost long after their commercial heyday.

So goodbye classic rock. It’s been a sweet ride, but all good things must come to an end.

What was that line in “Hotel California”? “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

That’s the ’70s. Its charter members are checking out every day, but the memories tend to linger.

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